Thank you for the reviews, guys! It's the reason I write, really. We're all on this trip together - still not quite sure where it'll end up, though I think you're pretty spot-on, charliebrown1234.

3

Bruce woke with a nosebleed. He groaned and coughed a bit to clear his throat of what had drained there.

"Does that happen often?"

The doctor jumped in the dim and glanced over to find Stark sitting casually in the chair across the table, face lit up by the tablet he had balanced on one knee. A bluer light shone from the arc reactor through his shirt to throw conflicting shadows across his face. He didn't look at Bruce, his eyes trained on the tablet as he swiped across its surface in swift movements. He was drinking scotch; Bruce only noticed after the ice shifted noisily in the glass his idle hand held.

"JARVIS, lights." The overhead lighting increased to about twenty percent rather than blindingly bright; a considerate gesture on JARVIS' part – if computers could be considerate. Without looking up he lifted a black handkerchief from the table and handed it to Bruce. "I only ask 'cause the cleaners are prob'ly gonna be angry."

Bruce blinked and looked past the handkerchief pressed to his nose to find blood staining the smooth material of the sofa. He blanched.

Voice gruff from disuse, Bruce began, "Stark, I'm sorry, I'll—"

"It's 'Tony,' I've told you," Stark reminded patiently, attention still focused on the tablet. "'N don't worry 'bout it." He took a long pull from his glass, eyes finally turning to the nervous doctor. "You even awake yet?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

Bruce ran a hand through his hair, moving to sit properly on the sofa. He wasn't sure how to answer Stark. He had honestly expected to wake up on a dirt floor, given the nosebleed – associating them now with rough climates and violent encounters with the natives. Trouble had an uncanny way of finding him.

After the appropriate amount of time to wait for a response – which for Stark was approximately a quarter of a second – he lifted the tablet for Bruce to see. "Hey, hey, does that look right to you?"

Bruce squinted at what he assumed were schematics of a new suit. Stark tapped the screen and the section was enlarged.

"Does what look right?" The doctor reached for his glasses, handkerchief still pressed to his nose.

"Any of it, all of it. Well, force and torque, see? I don't want a break, but if I make this any thicker the joint won't work. Any less, and Thor's hammer might leave me with more than just bruises. But I know I can achieve more mobility, I know. Without any gaps, I mean, because that would be the obvious solution, wouldn't it? I may be reckless but I'm not stupid – don't comment on that. I've been running simulations and my arm only breaks within a forty-two percent—"

"Thor's hammer bruises you?"

Stark worked his jaw after the interruption, eyes slightly glazed from drink. "You're not even listening."

"I'm not an engineer, Stark—"

"Tony."

"—so I can't help."

Stark huffed and let the tablet rest on his knee again. "Not even an opinion, then?"

"Do whatever doesn't get you killed or put in a cast."

"Those are boring words to live by, doc."

Bruce pulled the cloth from his nose and checked again; he'd finally stopped bleeding. He glanced to the sofa. "Have you got any paper towels?"

"Nah," his attention drifted to the window for a moment, "Stark Tower's green. Why?" Stark eyed him for a beat. "The blood? I told you, don't worry 'bout that."

Bruce sighed. He glanced sidelong at Stark's drink. The genius had long since stopped asking Bruce if he'd like one – it wasn't that Bruce didn't like drinking, but he'd learned the hard way that alcohol and the Hulk didn't mix. The doctor had tried explaining this the first few times Stark offered but it wasn't until Bruce finally resorted to silence as answer that Tony stopped asking. Silence often got the message across; though it was still surprising each time it worked. Stark characteristically refused to allow silence to carry on for long periods, but Bruce hadn't yet determined the reason. Until he puzzled out why, he supposed he'd have to deal with the man's outbursts and blaring music at odd hours.

"Have you ever been bit by a snake?"

Bruce blinked. "Er, yeah..."

"Really? Wh'sit like?"

Stark had only been pissed enough to slur his words once since Bruce had begun his stay at the Tower, and that had been after quite a few glasses. The billionaire could definitely hold his liquor, but this obviously wasn't his first drink of the night.

"S'like a spider bite, but more...fangy?" Stark punctuated this question by making a biting motion with two crooked fingers of his free hand in the air.

Bruce sighed and shook his head.

"Y'know who knows lots about spider bites?" Stark grinned.

"Parker?" Bruce guessed unenthusiastically.

Stark barked out a laugh. "Yeah! That kid. He's a good kid."

Bruce smiled as Stark nodded to himself while taking a drink, which resulted in less drinking and more teeth clicking against the glass. "How long have I been asleep? Or, rather, how long have you been watching me sleep – which is creepy, for future reference."

"Dunno how long you've been out. Been sittin' here twenty-two minutes. Woulda been twenty-seven but I had to go find a handkerchief when you started bleeding. And then I could only find white ones – prob'ly Pepper's idea – and one red one but then I found that one," he gestured lazily. "I was gonna wake you up but you did that on your own and I was busy with the forty-two percent. I tried to fix it, but I don't think I did it right. I've broken bones before – don't like it, takes too long." He set the tablet down with a frown and warily eyed the adjacent sofa for a long beat.

"What does? The healing?" Bruce asked, glancing over to the empty sofa with a quizzical gaze – nothing was there.

"Yeah..." Tony slowly dragged his attention back to Bruce but his eyes darted back to the empty seat twice before focusing resolutely on his drink. "Bet there's a way to speed it up, y'know? Gotta be something..."

"You could always just avoid it," Bruce muttered as he dizzily stood.

"Being a super hero of all mankind and beyond kinda doesn't allow—" Stark shot up to steady Bruce as he tilted toward the coffee table but the billionaire didn't succeed so much as sway drunkenly into him and Bruce's predictable flinch backwards brought the man to knock his knees audibly into the table and spill his drink.

"Ow," Stark stated emphatically, glaring at the table.

"That'll be another bruise, then," Bruce commented tiredly, lifting the tablet from the spreading puddle of scotch. "Sorry. People are going to start thinking I abuse you."

"We c'n blame the Other Guy, though I argue he's really jus' a Gentle Giant."

"You're insane, Stark." Bruce smirked, and headed toward the full kitchen to rinse out the handkerchief and move the pricey tech to a safer spot.

"Tony," he mumbled reflexively before calling out proudly, "I've been called worse." He followed after Bruce for apparent lack of anything better to do. "But there's definitely better ways to get bruises on your knees." He wagged his eyebrows suggestively before breaking into another sloppy grin.

"Yeah, I'll bet," Bruce threw over his shoulder drily. Since the incident, Bruce hadn't been intimate with anyone for fear of the Other Guy getting loose. The hypothetical was enough to keep him celibate, feeling ill at the thought of injuring someone. It wasn't as though he'd been with someone on a nightly basis beforehand, but to be cut off indefinitely was frustrating. He grabbed a tea towel and ran it under the faucet before sidestepping Stark toward the sofa again.

"What're you doin'? Hey," Tony called after him, staggering behind.

Bruce sighed. "Isn't it obvious?"

"It's unness—unnessair—You don't need to."

"It is necessary, Stark," he replied, scrubbing lightly at the stain, smirking triumphantly as it began to transfer to the towel.

"Why pay cleaners if they don't have unclean things to clean? And, Bruce, hey, it's 'Tony,' man. Really. You could say it before." Tony muttered into his near-empty glass, "Why can't you now? What's changed? Everythin's changing, keeps chang— Is it because you're here now?" Tony sat down on the cushion next to the one Bruce was cleaning to be directly in the man's field of vision. "'Cause, hey, y'know, what's mine is yours."

Bruce's eyes flitted to Tony's glazed ones to find confusion there but also staggering sincerity.

"Nothing has to change," Tony said in a near whisper. His eyes were drawn away again to the empty sofa and Bruce furrowed his brows.

"What are you looking at?" He paused in scrubbing and watched Tony flex his jaw.

Tony frowned, gaze locked in the middle distance. "'S nothing."

Bruce leaned closer to inspect Tony, but the other man seemed oblivious. The philanthropist had dark circles under his eyes and the trademark cut of his beard was getting lost in untrimmed stubble. His hair had at least a day's worth of build-up. Bruce blinked. When was the last time he'd seen the man? "Stark."

Tony stared fixatedly at the adjacent sofa, eyes unsteadily tracking something Bruce couldn't see.

"Tony," Bruce said with a near growl.

Tony gave a small start, blinked and looked to Bruce. He gave the doctor a brilliant smile, eyes bright and warm, and for a moment they seemed clear of the veil of alcohol. He clapped Bruce on the shoulder, ignoring the habitual flinch, "Hey, yeah. See? Nothing has to change." His gaze drifted a moment back to whatever had his attention and he murmured, "Nothing has to change."

"When was the last time you slept?" Tony seemed unwilling or unable to hear him. "Or ate, for that matter?" Tony didn't acknowledge him so Bruce sighed before picking up the towel again. "JARVIS?"

"Sir."

"The last time Tony slept?"

"Eighty-seven hours, forty-three minutes have passed since Tony last slept for a duration of four hours and nine minutes. Before that he had been awake for thirty-seven hours and thirty-seven minutes exactly."

The breath was choked out of Bruce as his chest constricted. He looked up sharply to Tony again to find the man still staring at nothing. The numbers ran circles in Bruce's mind. When had he truly last seen Tony? Aside from passing each other in the occasional hallway, he hadn't talked to the genius for days. The lab and his work had consumed him, and it seemed as though something equally demanding had captured Tony's time and focus.

"When was the last time he ate," Bruce whispered.

"Sixteen hours, nine minutes ago, Tony had a bowl of cereal of which he ate primarily the marshmallows."

"Of course he did," Bruce muttered. He looked sadly to the unresponsive man. "How did this happen?"

"You have been occupied in Labs Two and Four for the last five days," Bruce hadn't expected JARVIS to answer and the response made him snap his head up to the ceiling. "You have left level H only to sleep and eat, sir. You have slept for a total of thirty-two hours. Tony has not retired from the R&D levels for anything other than to refresh his glass and check on you twice. Your interaction of late has been minimal and it is not uncommon for Tony to forgo basic necessities while working."

"He checked on me?" Bruce didn't even recall seeing him.

"Tony did not enter the Lab either time."

Bruce scrubbed at his face in irritation. Beneath his skin he could feel the Hulk shifting restlessly, and Bruce determinedly sought a distraction. "Where is Pepper?"

"Miss Potts was called away last Thursday to a conference in Berlin. Tony was originally meant to attend and she went in his stead. She is due to return in three days. Tony has her itinerary on his tablet."

Dreading the answer, but too much of a masochist not to ask, Bruce wondered, "Why didn't he go?"

"Tony wanted to stay at the Tower to keep you company."

The guilt Bruce had been feeling condensed into a lump of lead in his gut. The Hulk roared within his cage and Bruce screwed his eyes shut. The last thing Tony needed right now was to deal with the Hulk. A brief flash of Tony lying broken and bleeding skittered across his mind at the thought of the Hulk breaking free and the green beast immediately settled into a subdued rumble, still angry but hesitant at the thought of hurting Tony. Bruce faltered for a moment, finding himself pushing fiercely at a suddenly passive force. He reigned himself back and tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry. How could he have been so selfish? In an effort to forget everything, to ignore the constant restoration of the city as people tried to reconstruct damaged buildings and their broken lives, he had hidden away in work that was familiar. He'd tried to keep his mind occupied, but he hadn't meant to ignore Tony. He should have seen all of this earlier, or at least known that Pepper had been absent for a week. Tony was definitely a social creature, and while he might not like crowds as much as he pretended, Bruce knew the man liked to be the centre of attention, or at least noticed, damn it, and Bruce had essentially left the man in isolation through pure obliviousness on his part.

He reached for Tony's glass but found that the man was nearly clutching it. "Hey," he coaxed softly, "Give me that; you need something better, now." The man's eyes were unfocused and still and Bruce was afraid the man had fallen asleep like that. "Tony," he shook him lightly and the man startled with a snuffle and a few sharp blinks. "Tony, give me the glass," Bruce murmured, slipping it from the man's locked hand while surreptitiously checking the man's pulse – erratic and fast. He frowned.

"M'head hurts," Tony admitted in a quiet voice.

"It's alright," Bruce replied in a soft tenor, "we're going to fix that." He released the other man's wrist and stood determinedly. He'd get some food into him, then get him to bed. A small shiver ran through him as Tony once more looked to the empty sofa. He was obviously seeing something. Bruce wasn't sure what it was Tony was hallucinating, but it made the billionaire's eyes hollow.

Bruce could fix this. He would fix this.